


The Unexpected Visitor

by dirtyfansecret, fleurlb



Category: Leverage, Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:09:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2848733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyfansecret/pseuds/dirtyfansecret, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate and Sophie's Christmas Eve chess match is interrupted by an unexpected visitor</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unexpected Visitor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vicky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicky/gifts).



> Posted by fleurlb on behalf of the author, who had catastrophic computer failure. The title and description are made up by a frazzled mod. :)

Nate made his way from the kitchen, with its perfectly serviceable eat-in area to the spacious living room with the excellent view of the Potomac River, to join Sophie, who was currently singing Christmas carols in a slightly tipsy voice. The journey felt longer than it should, his socked feet scrabbling for purchase as he navigated across the slick tile. 

Sophie wasn’t the only one who’d been drinking. 

They’d set up the living room to mimic an elaborate holiday getaway. Wall-to-wall decorations, soft lighting, the windows open to watch the snow fall, and they were curled up on a pile of blankets in front of the Christmas tree playing Strip Chess. Christmas had quickly become one of his favorite holidays once they initiated the now annual match. 

Despite the fit he’d thrown when Sophie had found this place after their world tour of a honeymoon, Nate couldn’t help but think it was perfect. They’d spent two years traveling and celebrating the simple joy of being together, no interruptions, no agendas, no destructive revenge plots, but no matter how much love they shared, they were still terrifically independent people used to their own space. Sharing a series of hotel rooms solidified their essential need to be in the same place and not hear the other. After much debate, they picked Washington, D.C. for their new home base, close enough to the corruption to feel it, but not so close they needed to do something about it, and the city had a strong enough theater presence that Sophie could easily set up a small theater and blend in, which she’d done a year ago, directing productions and teaching classes. She managed to stay pretty busy. 

While Sophie stayed involved with her theater, Nate did some consulting, a vague enough term to explain money on his taxes. Most days he was a man of leisure, which was an uncomfortable feeling for him, but he hadn’t really figured out what he should be doing with this new leg of his life. He knew that he didn’t want to be driven by rage, knew he wanted to be (mostly) sober, and he knew that he wanted to be with Sophie. After that? It tended to get jumbled and confused. He knew that he would figure it out. Eventually. 

Nate managed to not slide onto his bottom as he rounded the corner too fast, barely keeping the platter of leftovers he’d trekked in from the kitchen from spilling onto the floor. Hearing him scrambling around, Sophie stopped singing, her dark hair falling over her forehead as she turned to greet him. 

“Oh, thank you, Nate.” She pulled herself up from the floor, semi-gracefully, wearing far more than Nate, who was down to boxers, socks, and, a tie - no shirt. She pressed a kiss on his cheek before snagging the plate and heading back to the middle of the living room, landing with a thud in the midst of a pile of warm blankets. Grinning victoriously from below, Sophie prodded, “Want to see how you’re going to lose that tie?”

Surprised, Nate dropped down beside her. “Are you telling me I’ve been checked?” Staring at the board, Nate tried to work out what had happened. “You weren’t supposed to check for at least two more pieces of clothing.’'

“How about we scrap the game and enjoy the last bits of Christmas we have before we wallow through our tremendous hangovers tomorrow?” Leaning down, she whispered in his ear, “We can make use of my magnificent tub.”

Unmoved, Nate murmured, “Sounds lovely. We’ll do that in just a minute. I need to figure out where I went wrong with this game.” 

Sighing heavily, Sophie practically threw herself into Nate’s lap before thrusting a handful of pieces into his line of vision. “Where you went wrong was leaving a criminal alone with the board.” 

Dragging a rook along his jaw, she continued, “Quit fixating and lets put that sexy focus on me. Where it belongs.” 

Shifting his blue eyes back to his wife, Nate noticed she’d undone the front of her blouse, revealing a bit of lace and silk he recognized. Slowly peeling back the sides of her shirt, Nate asked huskily, “Is that the little number I bought you?” 

“Yes,” Sophie whispered. “I wanted to surprise you.” She stared up at him from his lap, her large dark eyes nearly black, glowing with passion and self-satisfied gloating. She knew she’d won, and it showed. 

Nate tilted her head back, bracing her weight on his arm, and trailed his lips along her collarbone. The featherlight touch sharpened the olive gold skin beneath him, causing it to prickle and pucker into a mountain range of goosebumps. Dipping his head further, he reached the space where Sophie’s neck connected to her collarbone and licked. Responding immediately, Sophie arched her back and gasped, shocked and pleased. Nate knew his wife had a weakness for rarely visited patches of skin on her body being stroked. Continuing in his barely-there worship of the dark-haired cheater in his arms, Nate worked back up her neck, pausing to bury himself in the hair behind her ear, his breath moving the silken strands. The delicate touch caused Sophie to shiver. Knowing she was melting under him, Nate whispered, “What’s your real name?” 

Laughing, Sophie shot up, pushing him off her and pressing his long frame back onto the cold wood floor, pouncing on top of him. Letting her long hair frame his face, creating a curtain around them, she mocked him, “Oh, Nate. Really? That’s the best you got? Why don’t we see what sort of information I get out of you with a well-placed tongue.” 

Nate’s eyes widened, looking very blue and boyish in his pale face, the dark stubble around his chin an unkempt deflection of the very ordered mind of the man it belonged to.  
Stretching his arms above his head in supplication, Nate grinned, “Do your worst.” 

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Sophie responded, “I will.” Sitting back, balancing herself on her heels, Sophie slipped the eggplant satin blouse the rest of the way off her shoulders, pooling it on the floor next to them. Still straddling him, she stood straight up, reached back and undid the zipper on her skirt, shimmying it down until it, too, was no longer on her body. 

Sitting up, Nate circled her wrist with his large hand, giving a gentle tug. Surprisingly, Sophie resisted. “No way. I had bruises for a week after the last time we rolled around this very uncomfortable floor.” 

“I thought you loved the wood floors. The herringbone pattern reminded you of some place in a country you’re no longer allowed because of past indiscretions.” Nate didn’t know why he was picking on her, but he was. Maybe it was because the floor was very cold, and their bedroom was so very far away. And he really, really wanted his present.

Sophie had already started backing out of the room, luckily not responding to his taunt. She’d started to sprint into the marble tiled foyer, but lost her balance and fell into a heap when a loud knock rattled through the silence of their penthouse. 

 

=//=

Moving quickly, Sophie darted into the living room, grabbing a blanket and throwing it around herself toga style. The banging grew louder, more insistent, accompanied by an angry British voice. From outside the door they could hear a man yelling, “Open this sodding door. I’ll not stop until I speak to Amy Williams. My name is Cal Lightman. I'm determined.” 

Nate managed to spring into action, pulling on a pair of discarded trousers and tossing Sophie her clothes. Their eyes met, Sophie nodding, signaling Nate to get the gun they’d hidden in the library on the opposite side of the foyer from the living room. 

As she dressed, Sophie called out, “Just a moment!” 

He pounded again. Sophie shouted back, “Oi! I said shove it!” She cringed a little at the harsh London accent that had come out. In times of stress, it was so easy to fall into her Annie Kroy persona. Of all of her identities, Annie was the most badass, the most capable in a fight. Usually, Sophie used charm and manipulated to get her way, but Annie made her way, and people moved. Shrugging Annie off and putting Amy Williams, theater director on, Sophie opened the door. 

There was no time to assess the danger because their loud visitor was already pushing himself into the foyer, his compact body moving into Sophie’s space with practiced intent, as if he was most comfortable pushing limits and boundaries without thought of consequences. His green eyes flashed, taking in the entirety of Sophie. The shrewd intelligence she saw there gave her pause. This wasn’t some average person or a thug: this was trouble. Dirty blond hair spiked, tousled and agitated on the man’s head. A dark charcoal blazer had been pulled over a wrinkled navy sweater. His legs were dwarfed by wide-legged dark denim, also wrinkled. Scuffed boots, previously caramel, now leaning toward mud were on his feet.

“Oi,” the man snarled, “You Amy Williams? Teacher? Quack? Pain in my arse?” He pressed into her, pushing her with his shoulder. 

With practiced ease, Sophie evaluated the man in front of her. Single. No, divorced. Originally from North London, but has been stateside for a while. He shows his loyalty like any man, by supporting this footie team. West Ham United. Devoted to his daughter, used to carving his own way. Hints of military service back home. Probably why he left. 

Cal Lightman was a very interesting man indeed.  
He took another step into Sophie’s personal space, his heavy boots thudding on the marble floors, his wrinkled shirt brushing against her arm. Bristling, Sophie placed a flat palm on his chest and pushed back, resisting the urge to whack him in the head. Where the hell was Nate with the gun? She took a steadying breath and answered calmly, “Yes, I’m Amy Williams. How may I help you?’

Once again, Sophie watched as the surly man flicked his green eyes over her. He frowned, then shook his head. “No, you’re not her.” 

Peering at her, his head bobbing to the left, then to the right, he questioned, “Why lie about that?” 

Concern passed through Sophie’s mind before she could squelch it, and the man immediately picked up on it.“Oh, and that bothers you? That I know that you’re not Amy Williams, or that I know you’re a liar?” 

Sophie could hear the interest and excitement in his voice, momentarily distracted from the task that had him at her penthouse on Christmas night.

“Why don’t you give the lady some space?” Nate suggested from the library door, drawing the stranger’s attention away from Sophie. Immediately reacting to the bait, the shorter man walked toward Nate, his whole body radiating confidence and anger. Sophie quietly shut the door before joining the two men, who were squared off, doing the alpha male thing.

Standing firm in front of Nate, the barrel of the gun Nate was holding pressed into his wrinkled navy sweater, the man asked, “Who’s she to you?” nodding his head in Sophie’s direction. 

“My wife.” 

A tense moment passed as the Irishman’s eyes roamed over Nate’s stony expression. “Now, that, I believe.” Turning on his heel, Cal moved in Sophie’s direction again. 

“Don’t get too close,” Nate warned, cocking the gun. 

Not bothering to look behind him, the man waved a careless hand over his shoulder. “You’ve got a gun. And you’ll use it. I know.” His attention turned back to Sophie. She tried not to flinch. Smiling in a completely unfriendly way, he asked, “You run a little acting class?” 

Confused as to what that had to do with anything, Sophie responded cautiously, “Yes.” 

“Okay, so you’re the reason my kid wants to switch her major to theater. Which I don’t like.” He pressed a finger into her chest. “You need to change her mind. Tonight.” 

“You have a kid in my acting class? But, I don’t have any children in my class.” 

He let out a huff of annoyed breath, “Emily Lightman. My daughter. She says you're some sort of revelation and have opened her up to this whole new world.” Turning, Mr. Lightman wandered into the living room, his head moving around curiously. “How does a theater teacher afford a place like this?”

“What kind of question is that, Mr. Lightman?” Still unsure of what was happening, Sophie followed the man into the living room, and Nate followed her. She met his gaze for a brief moment. He looked as confused as she was about all of this. 

His attention was on the plate of discarded food on the floor. Cal helped himself to some cold meat and cheese. Being sprawled out on the floor, a platter of food on his lap and smile on his face didn’t make Mr. Lightman look any more relaxed than he had when walked in, but he wasn’t worrying Sophie as much. Nate leaned in the doorway, his gun still at the ready. Sophie knelt down next to the stranger. Nate called out warningly, “Amy.” 

“I’m all right, dear. Aren’t I, Mr. Lightman?: Sophie smiled winningly at him. 

“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Williams?” Lightman mimicked surprise before adding, “In front of your husband?” Tossing a look in Nate’s direction he prodded. “You must be very secure, mate.” 

Nate snorted, but remained uncharacteristically quiet. 

Eager to get this man out of her house, Sophie attempted to get the conversation back on track. “Emily is a lovely girl. You must be very proud of her.” 

“Yeah, she’s brilliant.” Lightman leaned back on his elbow, popping more cold meat in his mouth, chewed loudly. “But she shouldn’t waste that on acting.” He let the last word fall off his lips acidly. 

Conversationally, Sophie continued, “She has a remarkable understanding of people, the subtleties of emotion.” She looked across the blanket at him. “I think she gets that from you.”

“Oooh, flattery. I like that.” His voice was harsh. Sophie was pretty certain she’d miscalculated. Changing tactics, she tried again. 

“What sort of man comes to a stranger's house on Christmas to, what? Threaten your daughter’s teacher because your grown child is making a choice you don’t agree is the right thing for her? “ Sighing, she continued mockingly , “How did you manage her teenage years?”

Ignoring her taunt, he said, “You're calling yourself Amy Williams. What do I call your husband?”

Waving toward Nate she introduced them. “Rory Williams.” 

Cal tsked, disappointed. ‘You shouldn’t lie so much.” 

Nate snorted. “Good luck with that.” 

“Hey!” Sophie called from the floor. “Not fair! Give me some credit.” 

Over her shoulder, Nate grinned. “I give you everything.”

Sophie snorted, a soft smile played over her lips as she stared at her husband, looking so handsome in the doorway, casually waving a gun. Marriage was wonderful, but it had been missing a little danger. The endless routine of trips to the shops, bills, and take away dinners did something to a professional criminal, even when they wanted to retire. You start wanting to lie, just to shake things up. 

Her attention back on Cal, Sophie realized he was watching them closely. Picking up a chess piece, she asked, “Do you play?”

Taking it from her, he started setting the board to rights. “Yeah, a bit,” Their eyes met, his glittering with challenge, “probably not as good as you, though.”

Smiling, she bowed her head. “I’m not the strategist. Rory is.” Rearranging the blanket, Sophie waved Nate over. “What exactly do you think I could do to change Emily’s mind? And why tonight?” 

“It’s Christmas. I deserve something nice.” Cal made the first move. He gestured to the gun in Nate’s hand. “You don’t need that. I’m not going anywhere, but I won’t harm your girl.” 

Nate must have believed him, because he left the doorway and joined them on the blanket, putting the gun out of sight. A quick glance at the board, then Nate made his move. “I’ll have you in six.” 

Cal stared at Nate, searching his face for a long moment before he nodded. “You will.” Sweeping this hand across he said, “Well, no point in that, is there?” Rubbing his hands together, he grinned at the couple. “Won’t be long now.” 

“What won’t be long?” Sophie asked, as she boxed up the chess set. Beside her Nate was looking flabbergasted. Rolling her eyes, Sophie nudged Nate’s leg to divert his attention away from the aborted chess game. If Cal Lightman had been looking for a weapon to thwart Nate, he couldn’t have utilized a better one. Leaving things unfinished, especially games of strategy - no matter the form they took, in chess or in cons - was Nate’s Achilles's heel.

Conversationally, Cal responded, “Oh, Ems ought to be around soon. Suspect she stopped off to pick up Foster.” Something in the way he said the name “Foster” alerted Sophie there was more to this than an unhappy father looking for his daughter to not make a career change. 

Before she could delve into it, Nate taunted, “Who’s that? Your keeper?” 

Cal grinned again, his face lighting up for a change. “Something like that.” 

Not wanting the two men to start snarling at one another, Sophie attempted to increase the normalcy of the situation by folding up blankets as she ushered them to the couch. Nate took his place at the far end near the table, and Cal plopped down beside him, his leg pushing into Nate. It was as if Cal couldn’t refrain from harassing people, either verbally or physically. It was all about control and response. 

Sophie watched as Nate became more and more defensive, Cal became less so. More relaxed, more at home. “Why do you do that?” Sophie gestured to Cal’s leg, blatantly encroaching on Nate’s personal space. It wasn’t sexual, but it was definitely predatory. Alpha male preening at its finest. 

Surprised, Cal stilled. “People are more inclined to be honest when in uncomfortable or pressured situations. It’s harder to come up with a lie.” 

“And you care about lying because?” Sophie had joined the two of them, but opted to take the chair off to the side. There was no point being a victim to Cal’s particular brand of lie detector. A smile flitted across Cal’s face when she sat down, a silent acknowledgment of her choice. 

Sliding across the couch, giving himself and Nate adequate space on the sofa, Cal answered. “It’s what I do. I suss out a lie, usually for money. It’s a nice bit of work.” 

The words were said casually, but Sophie sensed there was more to it than that. 

Nate spoke up. “I can understand it being part of your job, but why strangers? Acquaintances? It makes you come across as an asshole.” 

“But aren’t we all assholes? I know you are. At least I wear mine out where everyone can see it. No harm, no foul.” 

“How do you maintain relationships like that?” Sophie asked, curious. She very much adored her difficult partner, but it took a lot for them to get to this place. Nearly a decade of cat and mouse, then a rough few years as friends and partners in a Robin Hood-styled crime ring. By the time they’d become intimate, Sophie wasn’t entirely sure they’d have a future at all. Nate was too prickly. Too stubborn. Too drunk. And she was far from innocent. If she could lie, she did. Even now, she still refrained from divulging her real name. It wasn’t a control issue, merely the idea that she liked the person she is now and going back to her original name was too scary. She might lose herself, this self, and, in turn, lose Nate. It wasn't an option. Besides, he was very inventive in trying to get the information out of her. 

“I do alright,” Cal responded in a voice that spoke differently. 

Pouncing on it, Nate queried, “Divorced?” 

“Who isn’t these days, mate?” Cal laughed it off, glancing at Sophie as if to bring her in on the joke. “Oh,” he started in surprise, “Not all of us then? “ Holding his gaze, Sophie willed her face to go blank, to put all thoughts of the past out of her mind. “Good for you, Mrs. Williams.” 

Nate snorted, “You’re not that good, Lie Detector.” Cal looked surprised. Smiling sympathetically, Nate went on, “Don’t be hard on yourself. She’s the best I’ve ever seen. Can lie like it’s breathing.” Sophie flushed at the praise in his tone. Nate was rather proud of her, and there was nothing wrong with hearing it once in a while. It’s harder to hear pride in his voice for her more illegal personality traits now that they were honest. Mostly. 

Seeing Cal’s interest, Sophie offered, “Want to try me out?”

Cal seemed to be considering it for a moment, but shook his head, throwing a leg over his knee and pulling himself in. Rubbed a hand across his face before saying, “Nah, you’re not that good. I know you’re lying about your name. Caught you right off.” 

Smiling gently, Sophie took a deep breath. “Try again. Same question.” 

Definitely giving the impression he was humoring her, Cal asked, “Are you Amy Williams?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is your husband Rory Williams?” 

“Yes.” 

Sophie sat calmly, breathing, her mind entirely immersed in the lie of her persona, only in that moment, it wasn’t a lie. She was Amy Williams, nice school teacher turned theater owner when her generous and well-loved uncle, Dr. Smith, passed away and left her enough money to leave her small town in Britain and fly across the Pond, fall in love, and start a new life. Nate was only Rory, the dashing man who’d wooed her with crossword puzzles, beautiful art, and an adventurous spirit. In this life, there was no alcoholism, no history of lies, or gunshots. The little blemishes they both carried on their skin vanished from the memory of the tapestry of their bodies. For Sophie, there was only the woman she was supposed to be, here, now and in front of Cal Lightman. 

The silence went on, stretching to nearly uncomfortable, before Cal let out a gruff, “Huh.” 

Nate grinned at the man, handing him a drink. “Impressive, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah, rather, it is.” Cal paused, staring at Sophie as if she were alien. “I don’t usually see this sort of conviction outside of a mentally ill person.” Having stumbled on a possible solution, Cal leaned forward, “Are you mentally ill?” 

Unoffended, Sophie laughed, shaking her head. Meeting Nate’s gaze, she asked a question with her eyes. Nate nodded in agreement. Feeling reckless and silly and unnaturally comfortable with Cal, she whispered, “I’m a grifter. Retired, of course.” 

Cal tossed back the whisky Nate had given him. “And you? Also a grifter?” 

“Oh, no, I worked in insurance.” At Sophie’s annoyed huff, Nate grinned at her, delight written all across his face. Sophie smiled back, annoyance melting. It was hard to stay angry when he was so honestly happy. She wasn’t sure she was ever going to see that, and what’s a little fib between married couples?

“Ah, caught ya, mate,” Cal declared, crowing with excitement. He’d obviously not expected Sophie to fool him, so was thrilled when Nate proved to be easy. 

“How does that even work? I did work in insurance.” 

“You did, but you don’t believe that version of yourself the way Amy believes in herself.” Seeing Nate’s confusion, Cal set out trying to explain micro expressions and how they could be used in lie detection. 

Sophie left the two men in a heated to debate and walked back to the kitchen to tidy up. It was nice to see Nate getting along with another person. He hadn’t found it as easy in their new life to make connections, his old habit of avoiding and drinking was going to drag them both down if he didn’t find a way to occupy his mind. He dabbled in loads of things, but nothing had set his blood racing the way that the chase had always done - first when he was hunting down art thieves, like herself, and later when he was bringing down the corporate bad guys, saving the little man. Nate was the type of person that needed to use his brain and skills, or he’d atrophy entirely, becoming nothing but memories, regret, and anger. 

And neither wanted him to return to being an angry man. 

As she washed up, she could hear them laughing, their surprisingly similar voices mingling together, creating an illusion of family or friendship. Sophie found that she missed the gang more than she thought she would. Happiness wasn't always an easy thing to understand. Walking away, becoming legit and living her newly discovered dream was wonderful, but there wasn’t anyone they trusted to tell the truth. Until tonight. Until Cal and his unusual attachment to his daughter, Emily. 

And Sophie rather like Emily. She was smart, funny, serious and very sweet. None of her father’s blatant cynicism had rubbed off on the young woman, as far as Sophie could tell. Although, Emily wasn’t quick to volunteer information in class, like some actors were eager to do, swapping stories for street cred. 

Glancing at the clock, Sophie wondered how much longer before Emily and the mysterious Foster arrived. 

 

=//=

 

In the living room, Cal bounced his knee, shaking the whole sofa. Across from him Rory Williams, looking far less bleary and disheveled than he did when Cal arrived, was firing questions and tossing out scenarios about how to utilize micro expressions on both sides of the law. Cal thought him to be harmless, even a little thuggish, when he’d first arrived to his apartments unannounced, but he was rapidly changing his opinion. 

The revelation that his female host, who he knew wasn’t really Amy Williams, but there was nothing he could do about that yet, was a grifter put a lot of clarity on the situation. She would make a lovely front person, distraction. She was everything you wanted in a honey trap. It was obvious that she was intelligent, because Rory wasn’t the sort to stick it out with all looks and no brain. He was starving for a challenge in his retirement. Cal could clearly see that. 

Interrupting without answering, Cal blurted, “Do you need a job?” Glancing around the opulent living room, he amended, “Maybe not need, but do you want a job?” 

“But I don’t know anything about micro expressions.” Mr. Williams sipped his whisky, his second glass, before putting it down. Good. Cal didn’t want a full drunk at The Lightman Group, that place was practically occupied by himself, and he wasn’t going to share. 

“I can teach you most of it. There’s an instinct to it, but I think you’ve got it. You’d have to be, to be a con artist, yeah?” The other man nodded, thoughtful. Cal pressed. “And you can read that sweet wife of yours. That’s not a small feat.” 

Cal watched as a thousand thoughts flew across the face of the man in front of him. There was definite interest, but a certain amount of fear, secrecy. He was certain there would always be an element of deceit to Rory Williams, and as he watched the dual sides of the man battling across his face, the need to discover and learn overpowering whatever it was compelling Rory to lie to him, Cal knew that he would adjust. 

Some lies were okay. That was life. If we all stumbled along blurting out the emotional realities to loved ones and strangers alike, there would be nothing but chaos. Maybe in his youth he would have made a real push for a bloody anarchist revolution, but he’d matured, been willing to put all that behind him. Leave it to another generation. Like Emily. Except she wasn’t one for battle, unless it was against him. 

“Well, Mr. Williams?” Cal prompted, determined to get an answer out of him before his lovely wife returned from tidying the kitchen. His girls would be here before he knew it, and he’d really like at least one person on his side when the shouting started. 

“How sensitive are you to telling little white lies to the government? Let’s say I made a speedy name change a few years ago and I don’t want anyone in a position of authority to become aware of my new name, will you be willing to keep that under wraps?” Now Mr. Williams was staring at Cal intently, doing his own search of the soul looking for Cal’s truths and lies. 

Testing him, Cal replied, “Yes” but let his face say otherwise. Happily, Rory smiled before sticking out his hand. “Glad to know that you’re not a stickler for that sort of thing. It’ll be interesting doing business with you.” 

“You’re going into business together?” Amy’s voice, sultry and inquisitive, pulled their attention to her in the doorway. Eyes so dark they were nearly black pinned her husband to the couch, an entire novel of questions darting across her face. Her husband, apparently used to the silent eye barrage and practically immune, smiled charmingly before standing to cross over to her. 

Slipping a hand into his wife’s, Rory pressed a kiss to her forehead before answering. “It’s not business. It’s a job offer. Cal would like me to work with him.” 

“As a human lie detector?” Cal flinched at the pitch in her voice. She was a highly attractive woman, but her voice could reach registers not meant for human ears when she was perturbed. Turning on Cal she asked, “How much access does your company have with law enforcement?” 

“A bit.” Cal answered, not entirely truthfully. 

“Would my husband have any contact with that side of your business?”

“Not at first,” Cal glanced at Rory, “but we can deal with all of that later. I’m not as on the up and up as I might appear.” To his surprise, Amy laughed. “What?!”

She controlled her laughter, squeezing her husband’s hand a little tighter. “I can’t help it. You’re going to be so much fun to tease.” Cal shook his head. No one had ever said anything like that to him, except maybe Gillian, and he didn’t enjoy it as much as the dark-haired woman in front of him. “My husband is a smart man and he can make his own decisions.” Cal smiled as she sent Rory a look that clearly said that he couldn’t make all the decisions without her. 

Choosing to ignore the lie, Cal pressed. “Right, so, do we have a deal? Monday morning bright and early.” He handed Rory a card. The darker man took it, slipped it in a pocket on his wife’s skirt. 

“Got it.” He glanced at his wife before continuing, “Maybe you should call me Nate. We’ll tell people it’s a nickname, or something.” 

Cal tested the name out, biting it out with his teeth. “Nate. Nate. Nate.” He pierced Amy with a look. “And what do I call you?” 

Amy rolled her eyes, “Sophie.” 

“Is that your name?” Cal had realized he hadn’t asked the right question, so he couldn’t tell if she was lying, or not. 

Nate answered for her. “If you get anything other than Sophie or Lara out of her, let me know. I’m still trying to get her to tell me her real name.” 

“How long you been married?” Cal asked, curious.

“About two years, but we’ve known each other over a decade.” Nate was leading Sophie back over to the couch. Now that the apparent crisis was over, the obviously in love couple were staying close and being very sweet. Cal made a face. Happy people could be so annoying. 

“You married a woman, and you don’t know her real name?” Cal couldn’t resist needling, seeing if he could shake the serene peacefulness than had come over them. 

Nate looked into Sophie’s eyes before replying, “What does a name really matter? Secrets are a part of any marriage.”

Sophie smiled, her full mouth delicately curving, with a hint of mischief. “When you marry a man obsessed with puzzles, you need a few tricks up your sleeve to keep things fresh. 

Leering at her, Cal heckled, “I bet you’ve plenty of tricks.” 

To his surprise, Sophie laughed again. “Cal, you must stop. You’re not remotely convincing.” Seeming to change the subject, she asked, “So when do you think your daughter will be arriving?”

Glancing at his watch, Cal muttered a terse, “Soon.” 

“And do you think Foster will be with her?” 

The corners of his mouth turned up, then down. “Most likely.” 

“Are you and Foster close?” Nate settled back on the couch, letting Sophie do all the talking once more. Cal tried not to be distracted by her long legs and her soft voice. The directness of her gaze was bordering on hypnotic. 

“We work together.” 

Smiling a little, Sophie nodded, but didn’t answer. Out in the foyer there was a tentative knock on the door. Sophie languidly brought herself off the sofa and headed to the door, looking to all the world like a hostess of an afternoon tea. Nervously, Cal shifted on the couch. This is what he wanted, right? To cause a big enough scene that Foster had to see him. Getting Emily involved was a dirty trick. but there was nothing Gillian wouldn’t do for his daughter. 

 

=//=

Gillian Foster stood next to Emily, nervously smoothing her skirt. It was Christmas and cold in D.C., but it was the easiest thing to pull on when Emily showed up at her hotel room suddenly, claiming Cal was going to bully Emily's perfectly nice acting teacher on Christmas. Could Gillian please, please, please do something about her dad?

Knowing this event to be the ruse that it was didn’t stop Gillian from calming the younger woman down and agreeing to drive near the river to a surprisingly upscale condo and up to the penthouse floor. What kind of theater director had money for a place like this? And why would she be teaching college kids the ABC’s of Shakespeare and Mamet? 

Pushing the thoughts aside, she went back to trying to understand Cal’s motivation. Would he really drag Emily through a completely orchestrated bit of nonsense just to see her? Or was that her over-thinking things?

Two weeks ago she’d finally decided she’d had enough of babysitting the surly Englishman and took an extended holiday, hoping that some time would put things into perspective. She’d turned off her phone, taken a room at a hotel, and just avoided him. 

It was cowardly and foolish, but it made her feel good. Like she still had some choice in this friendship, despite the way Cal took over everything. He didn’t mean it, okay he meant it a little, but he was always so careful with her. She knew that. They never talked about it, but she didn’t have to hear him say the words to know that things had changed. 

Next to her Emily was shifting, embarrassed and angry. Cal had a way of making everyone feel that way. 

Nibbling on her bottom lip, Emily contemplated the door for a minute longer. “It’s quieter than I expected.”

Smiling, Gillian teased. “Maybe they’ve already killed him. It’s quiet work, cleaning up blood.” 

Emily laughed, a gasping shocked thing, with a hint of unease. “Mrs. Williams isn’t the type. She’s very controlled. I’d be surprised if she’s ever lost her temper.” 

Shooting Emily a skeptical look, Gillian chose not to answer. No one was that patient. She took a deep breath, reached up and knocked softly on the door. A moment later the large oak door swung open, revealing an amused dark haired woman. “We’ve been expecting you.” She had a lilting, softly accented voice, instantly calming. Gillian got the feeling that it was intentional, the tone the other woman was using. She wondered what Cal had already told her. 

In a flurry of motion, Emily pushed her way into the apartment. “I’m so sorry about my dad, Mrs. Williams. He’s not insane. He’s opinionated and he has no clue about boundaries and - “ Emily’s tirade was halted by Mrs. Williams with a touch and a smile. 

“It’s an unusual way to meet your father, but we’ve had a pleasant evening. Come in and visit with the boys. Ushering Emily into the living room, Mrs. Williams turned the full power of her smile onto Gillian. Gracelessly, Gillian stumbled under the force of the large doe eyes and casual sensuality. It was rare to feel out of place, or intimidated, but standing in the opulent foyer being smiled at by the sophisticated theater owner whom Emily clearly adored did funny things to her confidence. 

“Mrs. Foster, can I get you something to drink?” Pausing, her ear toward the increasingly noisy living room, Mrs. Williams smiled again. “Sounds like they have a lot to talk about.” 

Unsure, Gillian looked into the room. Cal and Emily were toe-to-toe, Cal trying to bully Emily and his arguably more stubborn daughter refusing to be cowed. He was yelling, she was whispering frantically at him. On the couch, legs crossed and a whisky in his hand, was an attractive, if somewhat unkempt, man smiling at her. He raised his glass in salute, as if to reassure her that he was on top of things. It was a fair assumption that he was Mr. Williams. 

Turning back to Mrs. Williams, she nodded. “I’d love a drink.” 

“That’s brilliant. You might dance to his tune, but there’s no need to be quick about it.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Eyes dancing merrily, the brunette ignored her question entirely before sticking out her hand. “Call me Amy.” 

“Gillian” She responded, taking her hand into hers. 

“Foster, right? Gillian Foster?” Amy questioned, a little strangely. 

“Yes,” she answered cautiously, “my last name is Foster.” 

“Did you know that Cal considers you his keeper?” Gillian didn’t like sound of Lightman’s name on the attractive woman’s lips. 

Realizing what she’d said, Gillian sputtered. “Oh, does he?” Her voice was shrill and annoyed. She turned to head back into the living room, but Amy stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. 

“Here’s your drink. Why don’t we sit down for a few minutes? Cal and Emily have a few things to work out.” 

Head turning back toward the living room, Gillian murmured, “Yeah, but…” 

“If you’re always doing it for him, he’ll never do it for himself.” 

As a professional, Gillian knew that, but sometimes it was so hard to remember in the face of Cal. Smiling politely, she took a sip of the red wine she’d been handed. Making an effort to ignore the volume in the other room, she set out to make small talk with her unlikely hostess. 

“Sorry we’re interrupting your Christmas celebration.” 

“Oh, it’s fine.” Amy answered breezily, waving a careless hand in the air. “We were playing a game of chess and about to go to bed.” Then she smiled, slow and dreamy. Gillian resisted the urge to apologize again. 

Behind her there was a scuffle in the doorway. Both women gasped when they spotted Cal being held by the ear by a very unhappy Emily. “Tell her.” 

Even bent over in the grip of his adult daughter, Cal managed to look roguish and charming as he smiled at them. “Foster. You look lovely tonight. Merry Christmas.” 

Pinching and twisting his ear harder, Emily pushed him another step towards Gillian at the kitchen island. Behind them a very amused Mr. Williams signaled to his wife, who got up to join him in the doorway, pressing a kiss to his chin. His hand found her waist as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear. She giggled, nodded and wrapped her arm around his waist. 

“You folks need to work this out, and we need to not be here for this. We’ll see you in the living room once you’re done.” Gillian decided she rather liked Mr. Williams’ voice. It was graveled, but not hard. His lifetime of worries and strife and luck and beauty resided in the timber of his voice. Mrs. Williams was a lucky woman. 

Turning back to the squirming Cal and livid Emily, she braced herself. 

“Aren’t you going to ask her to let me go?” Cal whined, pleading at her from green eyes. Capitulating, Gillian stepped up and separated them. Rubbing his ear, Cal grinned at her. “Thank you, Foster.” Glaring at Emily he added, “She’s got a grip, that one.” 

Rolling her eyes, Emily gave him another shove. “Tell. Her.” 

Sighing, Cal tried to read her face. She stood completely still, trying not to react. His intense scan must have told him she was unhappy, because his mouth tilted down. “I had to think of something.” 

Gillian waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. How like Cal to think that he’d explained himself when he hadn’t even come close. That was their problem. As much as the man talked, he said very little and, damn, she needed those words. Whatever they might be, because she was so tired of guessing. 

Something of what she was thinking must have flitted across her face, targeting a place inside of Cal that Gillian had previously thought mythical because he opened his mouth and told the truth. Not a version of it, nor did he make a weapon of it, he let himself be honest. 

Squaring off to face her, Cal admitted, “I wanted to see you.” Shaken, Gillian took a step back, her knee knocking into one of the bar stools, her elbow nearly upending her glass of wine. Cal dashed forward and caught it, his eyes never leaving her face. His voice, rougher than Mr. Williams, but still as beloved reached her ears and it was all she could hear, all she could register in the room for a second. 

Just enough time for Cal to set right the glass and rub a hand down her arm. “It’s like this. I’m bad at things. People, mostly, and emotions certainly, but I don’t want to be bad at you. So I do things, and I mean well, but I don’t explain.” 

He broke contact to glance over at Emily, who looked less angry and more encouraging. He smiled back, then continued, facing Gillian. “Foster, you’ve been my best friend for longer than I’ve deserved to have a friend. You’ve forgiven my mistakes and made a place for me in your life when all sense said you shouldn’t. Because I’m brilliant, or impossible, or a pet. But I hope, I want it to be different. I want forgiveness for this last mistake - dragging you out on Christmas when you’re trying to give me boundaries,” Cal nearly grunted the last word, making Gillian’s eyes water a little, “when what I should have done was be straight with you.” 

Cal was shifting as he spoke, moving in and out of her space like an over-sugared child, the heat of him pressing and leaving against her skin, making her wish for things. Wish for him. 

This was why it was so hard. She wanted a more clearly defined relationship, but if she was honest with herself, part of the draw of Cal was the messes that he made. “Of course, I understand. You were upset about Emily, and she needed me, so where else would I be?”

“The thing is, I’m not upset about Emily. She can do whatever she wants. My daughter is brilliant, and I’ll trust her to make the right decision.” Behind them, Emily scoffed. “I don’t like when I can’t see you, Foster. And Emily, smart girl that she is, tells me now is a good time to you something I told her a while back. Then I was a bloody coward.” Cal ran a hand across his face, braced himself and said, rather badly, “I love you, Gillian.” 

As far as a declaration of love went, it was too loud, too tense and too plain. Gillian knew, for Cal, it was a symphony of words and emotions, and Gillian decided to take it. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his lips, a soft thing that barely happened. “Okay.” 

“Okay? I tell you I love you and you answer ‘okay’ like it’s nothing?” Cal was confused, embarrassed. Gillian knew that he was expecting more. One of the best things about being Foster to his Lightman was that she knew, deep in her wicked places, that she drove him insane the way that he generally drove everyone else insane. It was her way of restoring balance to the world.

Smiling, Gillian slipped her hand into Cal’s and pulled him toward the door to the kitchen. Slipping her car keys and room key out of her pocket, she handed them to Emily. “Take these. Merry Christmas. We’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“We?” Cal’s face lit up, still confused, but hopeful. 

Pulling his arm across her shoulders, she laid her head on his arm as they walked through the penthouse to the exit. “We will call her tomorrow. We have a few more things to discuss. And we will do that tomorrow.” 

Lightman had never been described as dim. He pulled her closer, running his fingers through her hair as he asked, “What will we be doing tonight?” 

Boldly, she whispered, “I think we should open presents.” 

Cal grinned, raw and excited. As they passed the living room, he tossed a wave toward the Williams’. “See you Monday, Nate. Good to meet you, Sophie.” 

Gillian paused. “I thought her name was Amy. And why are you seeing Nate on Monday? Wait, I thought…” She trailed off confused. 

Cal grabbed her face and pressed a hard kiss to her lips, quick and distracting. “I hired Nate and she’s a former grifter. I guess he is too, but more of a con man.” 

From the living room, Nate called, “I prefer Mastermind.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Sophie teased him, her laughter reaching them in the foyer. 

“You hired criminals?” Gillian whispered fiercely, her hand holding the door closed. 

Gently pulling her hand away, Cal retorted. “Everyone is a criminal. They just admit it.” 

Arm once more around Gillian, Cal walked them the rest of the way out. 

=//=

In the living room Nate and Sophie were sleepily cuddling on the couch. The fire was getting low. Emily stood in the doorway, shuffling her feet. “I wanted to apologize for my dad. He gets carried away, and I hope he didn’t ruin Christmas.” 

Smiling gently, Sophie stood up and crossed the room to Emily. Wrapping the young woman in a hug, she said, “It’s all right. We understand passion in the theater.” 

Emily snorted. “No wonder I feel so comfortable on stage.” 

Stepping back and staring into Emily’s eyes, Sophie asked, “Did you and your father work it all out?” 

Emily nodded. “It was all about Gillian. Of course. It’s been about Gillian for as long as I can remember. At least now, she knows it’s about her.” 

Arching an eyebrow at a dozing Nate, Sophie responded, “Some men take longer than others to embrace the good things in their life. The good people.” 

Without opening an eye, Nate huffed. “Only the most complicated and perfect men.” Sitting up, he said more sincerely, “And only if they're smart enough to love the women strong enough to throw them back until they’re done growing.”

“And on that note, I’ll escort you out. See you at rehearsal?” Sophie padded behind Emily in bare feet, her manicured toes the only color across the tile. 

“Of course. This is a big deal for us.” Emily smiled, but Sophie could tell it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“This is the last play you’ll be doing with us, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t want him to think he’s right, but I do think it’s time to pick something and stick with it.” Grinning mischievously, she teased, “Maybe I’ll look for something out of state.” 

Laughing, Sophie said, “I see Cal isn’t the only Lightman with a devilish streak.”

The two women said goodnight, and Sophie shut the door softly. Heading back into the living room, Sophie called Nate’s name. “Come on, time for bed.” 

She walked over and tossed a bucket of sand over the low flames. Nate was standing behind her when she stood up, startling her. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not yet.” Taking her by the hand, he walked them over to the beautifully decorated Christmas tree. “I’ve one more present for you.” Sophie watched as he stuck his hand between the branches and pulled out a small jewelry box. “Merry Christmas.” 

Her hands shook as Nate dropped the box in her hands. Lifting the lid she saw an exquisite wedding band, diamonds and rubies blinking up at her, made more magical by the lights from the Christmas tree. “Oh, Nate. It’s beautiful.” 

Taking the ring out, she handed it to Nate before slipping her old one off and placing it in the box. As Nate was slipping it on her finger, he continued conversationally. “It’s from all of us. I picked out the stones, Parker and Elliot retrieved them, and Hardison designed the setting.” 

“Oh, Nate.” Sophie started crying, fat, happy tears. “You stole it. So romantic.” 

“And not just me. All of us. This way, you have your family wrapped around your finger. The way it should be.” 

On the verge of ugly crying, Sophie threw her arms around Nate. “Bedroom. Now. Christmas shagging.” 

=//=

All the way to their room, Sophie pressed kisses to his cheeks, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you” into his ear. And later, when she came, “I love you” once again found its way to her lips. As light started to break through the grey skies, Sophie whispered, “I love you” one more time before she fell asleep.


End file.
